We bailed.

Above is the absolute clearest shot of the day, looking above and west at Smuggler's Face, with numerous routes briefly revealing themselves. Getting to any of them would have required heavy machinery.

We packed up and walked back out, talking about trying to get on Workout Wall (NEI 3-4), perhaps, on the way to the Jeep. We passed the area, we're pretty sure (twice, maybe three times), but the visibility was so poor that we could never identify it, and the approach was out of the question anyway.

On the way back out on 108 we saw a tour bus attempting to drive up the slightest incline, and sliding backwards, across two lanes. It was time to motor. Which we did.

Despite the climbing for the day being a washout, we did complete what we'd like to posit is possibly the First Mid-Atlantic Gone Nawth (FMAGN) circumnavigation of the Mt. Mansfield massif by the following route: 100N past the freestanding yardcicle and Leaning Home to 15W (taking a left at the Wok N' Roll) and then driving for what seemed a too-long time and starting to worry as is typical - that we'd missed the turn - as is typical - but then all of a sudden there it is, by golly it's 108S to, and I think this is the key variation that sets our route apart - taking a right at the three-way stop because Brian was reading the directions from a west-to-east orientation, rather than east-to-west - realizing the mistake in very short order, pulling a tight-radius u-turn, heading back south past the 4-wheel-drive equipped '57 Chevy on the left (pausing to make an Archie Comics reference and being very pleased with ourselves as such), arriving in the parking lot, closing in fast on a couple with dogs who, on asking us where we were headed and receiving the following response: "ENT Gully," seemed to lose their resolve and soon thereafter turned around ("Honey, we're not headed to ENT Gully... This is all wrong"), clueless walking in a southerly direction, moving on to The Outhouse inspection and appraisal, plodding toward The Stone Hut, saying hello to a group of four snowshoers who asked what I was up to (Brian was performing the "inspection" outlined previously) to which I answered: "I'm 'ice climbing'" [finger-quotes around 'ice climbing' included], discussing Charo's career, more clueless walking in a northerly direction, still more clueless walking on the to and fro tip, automotive attainment, 15W to Essex where we bought some nicely brewed Green Mountain Coffee and were overcharged $.10 for wiper fluid (quickly refunded), cut off the corner at 289S, merged onto I-89S, took Exit 10 onto 100N once again and arrived safe and sound back at the Stowe Inn after a truly uneventful day. I'm calling it a first.

And then we drove home on two tanks of gas, one Burger King stop and one large cup of coffee, barely nabbed at closing time (Leonard Cohen, c. 1992; Semisonic, c. 1998).

Nothing we managed to climb had a name. Nothing that had a name wanted us to climb it.

I wish there was more to tell. There is not.